TBNES - Tournament

[Seon]

OOC: @Terrance: when in doubt, make stuff up.

It's a story writing competition, not a story writing cooperation. That's right, here we embrace Capitalism.

 

[Optical]

Antifelix vs. Lazarus Leto
Round 1

Silence.

Somehow Antifelix had expected it. Deep space was the last place he’d expected to face his first enemy… and yet, what better setting? Of course they’d pitch him against this Irishman, Lazarus they called him, in a setting where his agility – his best asset – would be near to useless. He opened his eyes and looked around. Outside the fishbowl world of his spacesuit, he could see that the area he was in wasn’t enclosed. Chunks of grey steel floated in mid-air. Here a rocket, there a steering wheel. A joystick floated in front of his face.

Antifelix had taken extensive care to learn as much as possible about the ancient-looking arena he was meant to risk his life in. He knew he’d probably have no chance; weight would have allowed him to propel himself off of flying pieces of ship – at a mere thirty kilograms heavy, Antifelix would have a distinct disadvantage against his opponent.

Across the void – perhaps five hundred metres away – he could see Lazarus Leto, held by one of the hosts of “the Tournament”. He’d heard the names of the hosts earlier – if he recalled correctly, the one holding Leto in place was called Judge North. Galla, another host, was holding his arms in a surprisingly strong grip. At some unseen signal, both she and Judge North released the contestant in their custody at exactly the same time. Galla moved her lips behind her helmet, in the shape of what appeared to be “good luck”.

Lazarus Leto moved towards him at lightning speed. As the former street urchin expected, his adversary’s adult-sized body enabled him to move much faster through the vacuum than Antifelix’s eight-year-old one. He quickly reviewed what he knew of the Irishman. A degree in arcane engineering; possibly an asset in the depths of space, and as an engineer he’d almost certainly have some sense of practicality. He was also an alcoholic.

Sure enough, as Antifelix looked over at Leto again he saw both carefully, coolly calculated movements and, behind those, as much of a staggering, drunken limp as was possible in the depths of space. He’d be confused... but he’d fight ferociously. On the other hand, before he died, in his last few seconds, Antifelix would have the golden opportunity of seeing the effects of being drunk in space.

Too bad he probably wouldn’t live to tell anybody about it.

Lazarus Leto was closing the gap between them quickly – there was only about a fifty-metre distance separating them now. The small thirteen-year old moved quickly. He had to act now, or there really would be no hope. Pushing himself off a passing, broken chair, Antifelix moved towards what must have used to have been a cockpit. A plan began to put itself together in his mind. It might work – it could also consign him to certain death. He’d simply have to take that wager.

Just as he grabbed onto some edifice on the dilapidated cockpit, something grabbed onto his ankle. Over his shoulder, Antifelix saw Lazarus Leto. Not unexpected. The Irishman pushed slightly on one side of his ankle, and he found himself spinning off, holding onto the cockpit as he approached some small planet. Just as the cockpit began to enter the planet’s weak gravitational pull, Antifelix pushed off, back towards his new enemy.

That was clever, thought Antifelix. Arcane engineering might be a useful field of study for the next time I need to kill somebody in deep space.

Once again approaching Leto, Antifelix prepared himself for the fight to come. He knew he’d have to get every last detail of his plan right. He’d never had a choice. Now, though, he knew any mistake, even when his foe was drunk, could be fatal.

Leto pushed himself off a skull-sized piece of space junk, just at the right velocity to meet Antifelix with one metre between them. His face was impassive. Even his eyes betrayed no sign of what he planned.

Then, everything happened at once. Leto grabbed one of Antifelix’s limbs. Almost as quickly, Antifelix crawled down the Gael’s leg and grabbed his heel. Leto bent over, Antifelix stretched out, they began to wrestle. It was clear that Leto had the upper hand – Antifelix almost lost a finger to his beer-stained teeth – presumably Guinness, thought the boy – at one point, and had had a near encounter with a sharp object in Lazarus’ left hand. That would have been one eye he’d never have seen again.

They tumbled over each other, each trying to get close enough to a vital organ to deal a killing strike. Leto had his sharp object; the street urchin had a small dagger in his boot. He hoped he’d be able to pull it out in time – he needed both hands for the moment, to avoid being killed in an instant.

Antifelix spotted it first – they were once again approaching the small planet; but faster this time, the combined weight of the two humans spinning around each other making better progress than the broken hunk of metal that had gone before them.

It was then that Antifelix struck. He was nearer to the planet, and already beginning to feel its pull. He needed to be in Leto’s position. He pulled out the dagger from his boot, and slashing at the other man’s legs, managed to struggle into a spot where Leto stood between the planet and his own mass. Then, he pushed.

It was exactly as he’d hoped; Antifelix spun out of Leto’s grip and away from the planet. Leto spun towards the planet, initially at the same speed, but then accelerating, faster and faster, until Antifelix could no longer see him and he disappeared into the planet’s thin atmosphere. He hadn’t seen the material that covered the planet’s surface.

Iron.

Antifelix shuddered. He didn’t know whether scientists would believe his claims of the planet’s unusual gravity; quite frankly, he didn’t care. He’d just killed a man, and felt no pleasure at it for that matter. He descended into peaceful, numb slumber as Galla pulled him back towards the waiting spaceship.
__________________

OOC: 1016 words! I don't think I've ever written that much before outside of school...

 

[Tycho]

OOC: Working on mine still, trying to finish it up by the end of tonight.

 

[KaiserElectric]

Just finished it. I'm quite pleased by the final result.

Round 1

Raul vs. Mengele

A temple in the middle of the jungle, Mengele thought scornfully. How irritatingly cliché, to be stalking through the underbrush in search of some animal.

Mengele kept going towards the temple, keeping an ear out for unwelcome intruders. Somewhere, a flock of parrots took off noisily, adding to the ambient din of mosquitoes, thick as smog in the air. Mengele reflected briefly on the irony that, of all creatures, the tiny, insignificant mosquito was most deadly. How many more have died by malaria and West Nile than by any brutish creature of the forests or jungles? Truly a creature to be marveled.

But enough of that, Mengele thought as he reached the temple complex. He had work to do. He had observed his opponent soon after the first round was announced. He had taken the liberty of dissecting many a worthy man, taking the blood and flesh that made them great for his own studies. But this mutant Raul was different. He was rotten in both flesh and blood, tainted by disfigured genes. Yet by the cruelty of fate, Raul had been gifted with incredible abilities, even greater than the many others he had seen. Never had he found anything more repulsive, and so worthy of utter and complete destruction. Mengele was almost to glad to face Raul in combat.

The trees rustled behind him. Speak of the devil, Mengele thought with a cynical chuckle as he turned to face his opponent. To his surprise, it was not the mutant but a black panther, having followed the scent of blood that lingered in the air. Mengele simply glared at the cat, which decided that he was too dangerous to fight and slinked back into the trees.

“Dr. Mengele, I presume…”

Mengele turned wordlessly towards Raul, slipping the surgical blade off of his belt in a fluid motion.

“Stupid of you,” Mengele said callously. “Perfect opportunity to catch me off guard. Could have ended this before it…began.” He punctuated with a pronounced cough.

Raul glared darkly at Mengele. “You disgust me,” he said, spitting on the ground. “A creature bent on torture and sadism. I want to kill you face to face so you can die knowing I won’t stoop to your level.”

Mengele laughed bitterly. “You certainly have a way with words, filthy mutant. Let’s see if you fight as well as you speak, then!”

And the fight was on. Mengele charged at Raul and gave a great slash with the knife. Raul deflected the knife with his diamond gauntlets and delivered a strong punch to Mengele’s chest. Several syringes shattered on his chest and he was flung backwards into a tree. Mengele got to his feet in an instant, coughing harshly.

“Impressive,” Mengele said through a mouthful of blood. “But you’ve already lost.”

Raul was unmoved at the jibe, and charged at Mengele himself. This time he was prepared, and he deflected the blow with a quick elbow. Mengele pulled a cleaver from his belt and went for his jugular, but Raul turned it to dust in the blink of an eye. Swearing harshly, Mengele deflected another blow too late and staggered back, clutching his shoulder. Raul pulls out his shotgun and points it at his chest, a vengeful look in his eye.

“Resourceful…” Mengele chuckled. “I underestimated your resolve.”

Raul gave a slight grin. “Maybe this mutant blood you hate so much isn’t as bad as you thought.” The grin vanished as soon at it appeared. “I’ll make this quick.”

Mengele gave a cold, low laugh that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. A gloved hand drifted casually towards his belt as he spoke.

“Not…quick enough, mutant,”

--------

With one fluid motion, Mengele shattered the glass vial he carried and flung the vicious liquid within at Raul. Raul dropped the gun and brought up his transmuted trench coat to protect his face. The acid splashed harmlessly against the coat, where Raul transmuted the acid into harmless water. Looking around, Mengele had vanished. Raul swung around to see the doctor dash into the temple, leaving a small trail of blood. Leaving behind the partially melted gun, he chased Mengele into the temple.

He didn’t have long to look. Mengele jumped down on Raul and dealt a gash to his shoulder with a jagged blade. Raul staggered backwards and delivered a vicious right hook with his good arm, knocking the blade out of his hand. Mengele, unfazed, delivered a punch to the ribs and grabbed his wounded arm with another quick movement. Raul tried to transmute Mengele’s jacket to lead, but Mengele managed to snap his arm like a twig before the transmutation took affect. Eyes watering, Raul watched as Mengele collapsed on the floor, pinned down by the jacket. Struggling, Raul grabbed the dropped knife and placed a foot on Mengele’s chest.

“You bastard…” Raul gasped. “You aren’t worth the trouble.”

Before Raul could make a move, Mengele delivered a sharp kick to his chest flinging him backwards into the wall. As Mengele struggled out of the lead coat, Raul attempted to transmute the ground beneath him to quicksand.

Mengele was again too fast, and recovered before the quicksand could start dragging him and the heavy coat down. Mengele gave a vicious chuckle as he watched the coat sink.

“About time, too,” Mengele said, coughing slightly.

Raul sprung to his feet, but Mengele had already drawn a new knife and swung at him again. Raul tried to transmute his jeans to diamond, but the transmutation didn’t take affect at all this time. As Mengele’s knife sunk into his leg, he staggered back with a cry of shock.

“Surprised, mutant?” Mengele said wildly. Before Raul could respond, Mengele delivered a vicious strike to his head. He was out cold in seconds.

------------

Raul came to a moment later lying on his back on a stone bench without his shirt on. He was outside again, as the light which stung his eyes told him. He tried to stir, but could not move his limbs, despite having nothing restraining him.

“Don’t struggle, it makes things much more difficult that it has to be,” Mengele’s floated to him from what seemed like a great distance.

Raul looked to his side to see Mengele, preparing a wicked looking scalpel with his back to Raul. They appeared to be atop the temple itself, judging by the ornate stone carving Mengele leaned against.

“What…the hell…”

“I would save your breath,” Mengele said casually, turning to face him. “The paralytic drug in your body may constrict your breathing, especially combined with the earlier toxin.”

“Earlier…”

“You couldn’t tell?” Mengele said, turning to face him, bemusement in his voice. “I saw your transmutation abilities, and correctly guessed I couldn’t defeat you unless I disabled them. I obtained a blood sample and the rest came easy. You saved me the trouble of injecting it myself when you smashed the syringes open. They are just as potent airborne as they are within the bloodstream, although the final effect is slightly delayed. I thank you for that.”

Fear built silently inside Raul as Mengele leaned over him with the knife. Mengele looked up once more to look at the surroundings.

“Odd,” he said softly. “Many years ago, the ancients used to offer the blood of their best men to their gods on these steps. It’s strange how I stand here centuries later, befouling it with the worst blood man has to offer.”

Mengele leaned back over Raul and made an incision directly over his heart with the scalpel, ignoring the tears in Raul’s eyes.

“And now to work.”

 

[thomas.berubeg]

OOC: Creepy. gonna be tough to choose.

 

[Crezth]

Lazarus Leto vs. Antifelix
Round 1

An endless field of verdant green stretched before him; many a blue flower stand stood about him, pointing towards the sun in an eternal vigil. A blanket of light warmed him and the flowers alike, and they both drew the same sustenance from it.

He turned around and saw her, braided blond hair flying behind her, the occasional stray wisp whipping around her perfect sapphire eyes. She was running towards him, and he too broke into a run, each of his legs adopting brilliant felicity as he pushed himself across the field that morphed and gave way as he ran. She was closer, now, he could see, and he ran harder. She was almost close enough to touch, and then he was plunged into icy coldness, and all the field around him vanished into darkness.

He awoke in a shadowy hallway, a singular ray of light splashing itself against a wall opposite him. A single fan stood in the wall, rotating wearily behind a grate of iron, whirring with a gentle hum. Beneath him, he felt cold, hard steel; in his head was a dull, aching pain. He looked at the light and, following it to its source, craned his head upwards, and saw a small porthole just above his head where the ray of light was coming from.

He stood up slowly and looked out the porthole. A tiny, brilliant light stood alone in a field of pure blackness, punctuated only slightly by the smallest pinpricks of white. At the bottom of his field of view, he saw a curving surface of blue, green, and white.

“What in the world…”

He stepped away from the porthole and looked about him, at the room he was in. Very slowly the ambient noise of… wherever he was… filled his head, and the harsh sounds of metal scraping against metal was the most prominent of these faint noises.

The realization came as cruelly to his head as the whiskey, and he rubbed his temples. The competition, yes. This must be part of it... or… maybe this could be a dream. He was used to having strange dreams lately, of a land he could scarcely remember, a time before he knew what worry was, what it meant to shoulder the pain on a thick layer of drink.

Reason, he thought. He must attempt to apply reason. He knew that his first fight had to take place in an environment of some kind, although the exact dimensions escaped him. He knew the proctors dealt in vagueness and trickeries. And his first opponent was a child.

A chill went down his spine, gripping his heart gently as it did. He had to kill… a child.

He felt about in his pockets for his holster. Yes, it was there, he had it – and the Runeloq Pistol as well. The Thamnaric rune stood out at the base of the barrel, with many smaller Dwarven runes running down the side of the mechanism: the firing rune, and all the mechanical runes, respectively. That was fairly basic, he thought: you have your gunpowder substitute and the trigger operators. It gave him no pleasure to know that, at this moment.

He strapped the holster to his waist and made his way down the nearest corridor. A blast of warm air greeted him as he creeped by another fan, channeling exhaust out of some nameless engine room into the many myriad corridors of whatever iron hulk he was currently camped out in. If he could find an engine room – or any type of maintenance room, really – he’d be in great shape.

“Why am I thinking like that?" Leto said suddenly, aloud, “It’s a child. I’m fighting a child.”

He pressed on as he navigated his way through the corridors, attempting to put the thought of the awful upcoming encounter out of his head. He had no want of this, no need for this. He knew of the child, though only somewhat: a street rat from another time, another place, unceremoniously dumped in the hub of whatever hellish dimension had appointed this task to him.

As he walked, his thoughts occasionally drifted from the task at hand to the peculiar architecture of the thing structure he was inside. It was only on the merit of the occasional splatter of blood that this came to mind and rendered him deeply uncomfortable. It wasn’t long after seeing the first of those faint bloodstains that he heard a great, metallic sound from somewhere within the depths of the hulk. He nervously checked his side – the gun was still there.

When he turned a corner and saw a large iron door, he heard the noise again, and brandished his pistol. Nervously, he went to open the door, before noting with some sobriety that it was without a handle.

He spotted the locking mechanism and shot it off.

The thunderbolt explosive created a sharp report of the elemental power of nature as it leapt from the barrel and into the iron door. The iron door convulsed violently, the lightning reverberating through the entire structure, and shortly after the entire door fell forward with a deep, satisfying *thud*.

As he walked through the doorway, pistol still brandished, he felt a sharp stinging sensation start in his head and run down his spine, and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

A short while later, he awoke only to see two curious eyes meeting his. He tried to move, but it was no use as his arms were tightly bound behind him. He was tied to and propped up against a tall metal pillar in a huge room that reminded slightly of an antechamber. At the far end of the room was a gigantic metal grating, and the ceiling was a huge glass dome. Visible through the dome was an endless, empty void. He swallowed nervously as he beheld it, but his attention was again demanded as he felt a cold knife against his throat.

“Hey,” said the kid. He looked hungry.

Leto gulped. “’Ey.”

“What is this thing?” the kid held up the Mageloq Pistol in his other hand. Suddenly, Leto realized what was going on, and the rush of blood to his brain forced him to grimace in pain.

“Hey,” the kid said impatiently, and pressed the knife to Leto’s neck harder. Leto could feel that the kid had long suffered from malnutrition, but was nevertheless strong enough to gut him with that knife.

“That’s a gun, that is, lad… a special make,” said Leto, attempting to compose himself, “It, um, you can’t work it. You need to be a mage to work it.”

The kid’s left eyebrow rose. He wielded the gun, aimed it at Leto, and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened, and his face contorted first in confusion, then in disappointment. He threw the gun behind him and started rifling through Leto’s other pockets. The press of the knife lessened somewhat, and Leto’s suspicions were confirmed. The kid wasn’t killing him – not yet, anyway – because his first instincts were to scavenge. Be a pickpocket, loot, steal. A sharp pang of sympathy struck his heart, but it quickly dissipated when the kid pressed the knife against his throat again.

“What are these?” said the kid as he drew out a number of dark purple berries from one of Leto’s pockets.

“Uh, that’s nightshade, you don’t want to eat those. They’re poison.” Wait a minute! Leto wished he could slap himself for that.

The boy looked between Leto and the berries, utterly perplexed. It was clear he wanted to eat the berries, but for now he cautiously put them aside. “Just my luck,” muttered the kid.

As the boy resumed his searching, another loud noise from somewhere in the depths of the hulk sounded out. It didn’t bother the boy, but Leto could tell the noise was much closer than the two he had heard earlier. He attempted to focus.

“So, uh, these are a right good knot you’ve done on me,” said Leto to the boy in a tone that only approximated casual, “Where’d you learn it?”

“I picked it up,” said the boy dismissively, “When you’ve been locked up and bound tied up as many times as me, you pick it up along the way.”

Leto nodded, half in interest and half in utter dejection. The knot was insanely tight – there was extremely little freedom of movement in his arm movements. Any hope of escape was quickly diminishing. I bet if I was this starving child, Leto thought bitterly, I’d already be free and gone by now.

“So your name is Felix, huh, kid?” Leto asked with defeated boredom.

“Antifelix, actually,” said the kid, almost annoyed, definitely distracted. Leto was for once thankful he had so many damn pockets.

A huge clanging sound rocketed around them, the metal grating at the opposite end of the chamber flying off and smashing spectacularly against one of the metal pillars spectacularly. From the tunnel once concealed by the grating came dozens upon dozens of strange-looking metal contraptions that seemed to resemble six-legged spiders. They weren’t very large – each only about a foot and a half in diameter – but they were fast, and presently rushing their way towards Antifelix and Leto.

A look of horror flashed across Leto’s face, and Antifelix also stumbled away as the spiders closed. Leto tried to think – Antifelix with the knife, the spiders with their… mandibles, it seemed.

They were doomed.

Antifelix was getting to his feet again when the spiders were dangerously close, their legs pattering against the metal floor with tireless enthusiasm, their wretched mandibles clanging open and shut with peculiar bloodlust.

Leto beheld the nearest of the spiders as it walked toward him and, between them, the Mageloq Pistol. The only visible part of the pistol was the Thamnaric rune. Leto’s eyes widened in surprise.

Of course. That was why he bound a Thamnaric to the pistol. That was what made the damn thing work, after all. It was a gunpowder substitute… or, by any other name, an explosive.

“Hseth thamnaro!” shouted Leto hoarsely. The spider was directly above the pistol when the Thamnaric rune blinked once and then exploded.

Leto turned his head to the side to avoid the shrapnel but took a shard to the arm anyway – it hurt like hell. Multiple shards shredded the nearby spiders, none hit Antifelix; and a huge gear hit the glass ceiling with such alarming force that the entire dome shattered.

“Security alert in progress,” said a friendly female voice; it sounded like it was coming from a speaker system, “Air-lock initiated. Thank you.”

The loud howl of rushing air filled his ears as the spiders in the room were sucked out into the vacuum of space. Leto sat helplessly, the ropes around his wrists cutting into him deeply as he felt the air pulling on him. Antifelix was scrambling for a nearby door, but it was sealed by the airlock. He then turned around and, looking about frantically, saw the open door at the far end of the chamber – the one Leto had blown off its hinges. Antifelix ran for it, but at that moment the unhinged iron door began to fly up and towards him. Antifelix deftly stepped to the side, but the iron door struck him in the shoulder. He went sprawling and then both he and the door were flung into space.

The last thing Leto remembered seeing on that ship was those hopeless eyes, filled with fear, locking with his own in those twilight moments. Leto tried to say something, but could not, and he suddenly felt a warmth envelope him as he was no longer in the derelict spacecraft. All around him, faceless attendants began to treat his wounds and tend to him. A damp, warm cloth was placed over his head.

But a cold spike had been firmly lodged in his heart.

 

[Seon]

Lovely.

 

[KaiserElectric]

Great stories guys. Keep it up.

 

[Tycho]

Seymour and Jobo Habok

A blinding flash of white, a sudden lurching feeling in one's gut, an explosion and cacophony of sound in one's ear, all happened at once to Seymour as he thudded into the metal floor of this place. Nausea gripped him, causing his stomach to spill the contents of everything that he had eaten at the amusment park in the last twenty four hours onto the floor in front of him. Perfect, just perfect. Barely got into this place and I'm already throwing up.

He wiped his mouth off and rose unsteadily to his feet, swaying gently. Quickly, he checked to make sure that all of his assorted knives were still on him. Every single fold of his clothing that he had packed his knives into contained their passengers, the little blades tapping slightly against Seymour's body. Besides the assortment of about a half dozen knives he had had with him before coming to the carnival, he had his fists, his feet, and a small selection of glass shards that might come in handy. Seymour sincerely hoped no one found out about the mirror he had broken in one of the hotel rooms on accident-stupid, clumsy, idiot that he was.

He looke around left and right. A rusting industrial complex, with enough decaying iron and metal to give you tetanus by merely peering at it. Where is mister Jobo Habak?

Good question Seymour, your guess is as good as mine right now.

So you are deciding not to be a total prick and try to get me killed?

On the contrary, if you die I die after all. Self preservation drives a man to make friends even with people he doesn't really like.

Seymour shook his head. Time to get back on track. Time to gauge his surroundings.

Giant smelting tubs were the molten iron and metal had been poured into place littered the main area of the floor, giant containers that had once been full of the stuff dangling precariously on chains. Lofty and tall, they were near the very top of the cieling, but obviously could be lowered down if need be. Metal catwalks hoisted high above the industrial complexe's floor ran in crisscross patterns, lined with decaying steel and iron railing, weak and flaky by the looks of it. Staircases ran up and down to higher levels of the catwalks and down to the factory floor, allowing the former workers of this place to go wherever they needed to go in a hurry if need be.

Quietly, Seymour padded up a staircase, the thing whispering and creaking silently like a chorus of the damned and dying tugging on his mind to pull him down into the depths. A few broken and damaged lights shone their shattered rays across the catwalks and the steel structures of this place. They weren't providing much comfort though; many of them instead made the place more cold, insidious and horrifying then it already was. If you listened closely enough, you could hear packs of mice squeaking and scampering about as they made their own paths across the floors and catwalks, a constant reminder on top of others that this was a crumbling ruin and a shell of it's former glory.

Besides the mice squeaking quietly off in the distance and the occasional groan of the metal walkways, not a sound could be heard. Surely Jobo had entered this place by now, had he not? He surely must be moving about in this complex, trying to find Seymour and kill him so that he could win that prize... But Seymour was not going to go down without a fight, not without a fight whatsoev-

As Seymour neared a doorway to another part of the complex, a fist lashed out so fast that Seymour couldn't even blink before it smashed into his face and sent him spiraling away against the railing. With a cracking noise, it gave way and let Seymour tumble down, down, down, down...

With a resounding crash, he landed on a lower catwalk that creaked and groaned ominously... along with Seymour who gingerly felt his nose. Definitely broken, it was already streaming a large river of blood to drown out the world. Grimancing, he set it back into place with a crunching noise and looked up at the catwalks as a figure appeared up above.

"Hallo down there!" The figure called in a cheery voice and accent. "I do believe that we are facing each other in combat this round, wouldn't you say? I'm Jobo Habok, and you are most likely Seymour unless they lied to me." His grin was pearly white, bright enough to stand out in the inky darkness of the industrial complex. "You may know me as the unluckiest man in the world... but today that seems to be changing. Rather rapidly."

With that, Jobo vaulted over a section of the railing in a jacknife dive straight at Seymour, probably intending to crush him and end the round as quickly as possible.

Seymour waited until the last second as the scruffy fellow with the stubble grinned wide, and then proceeded to roll out of the way. Jobo went straight through the catwalk, the flaking iron holding him for a half second before he fell away, down further. Seymour cautiously peeked over the side.

Jobo's limp, splayed form was down there, resting against the rusting iron. Waiting for some sort of signal that the match was over, now that Jobo was clearly dead, Seymour sat there and watched. Five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes, a half hour... nothing happened. Jobo still had to be alive, at which point, Seymour had to put him out of his misery.

Clambering down the catwalks, Seymour rushed to finish this off, pulling out a bowie knife and clambering over the side of the construct that held Jobo's body. Moving slowly towards the other contestent, he couldn't help but feel saddened that Jobo's bad luck had teased him, then snatched victory away from him. Seymour bent down to turn Jobo over, intending to slit his neck and end it all right there.

Jobo however, was still quite alive and functioning. Lashing out, he knocked the knife away from Seymour's grasp, struggling upwards and driving a kick into Seymour's abdomen. The latter person was forced backwards against the wall of the construct that they were in, smashing into it with enough force to jar the knives hidden away in his belt and sleeves and send them clattering to the floor. Seymour struggled to move against Jobo, but the other man already had moved close enough to grab Seymour by the throat and hoist him up into the air against a corroded steel pillar that rose to the sky. Slowly and methodically, Jobo used one of his feet to slide a knife up the wall and into a waiting hand he extended before pressing it against Seymour's throat. "My luck changes again."

Purple and blue dots began to swim before Seymour's eyes as Jobo slowly began to choke him to death, those sly eyes peering into his soul. His hands scrabbled at the other man's grip, but it was as tight as an iron lock and would not budge. So this is how it ends, isn't it?

Not if you know how to kick you imbecile.

For once, Seymour thanked whatever diety was up there that Mr. Fiddlesworth occupied his brain.

Jobo's look of victory was wiped away rather quickly by Seymour's foot lancing upwards into the other man's kneecap, with the other leg having the knee driven up into the chest of Mr. Jobo Habok. Jobo's grip slackened enough for Seymour to struggle free and give a final retaliatory kick to the other man as he fell to the floor. It jarred his bones and his entire body, but that didn't matter at the moment. What did matter was the fragment of glass kept in his boot that he struggled for now, wrapping his fingers around it and pulling it out.

Jobo came back with a vengence, bowling Seymour over and hooking two fingers into his nose and pulling sharply as Seymour cried out in pain. Jobo was above, his fingers still hooking Seymour by the nose as he dragged him to a wall, most likely intending to put him down for good and end this match. Pulling the fragment out of his boot, he flailed wildly until he hit something soft.

Slowly opening his eyes as the pain went away, Seymour noticed the piece of glass lodged in Jobo's chest, right above where the heart was supposed to be. The latter man looked quizzically at the piece of glass lodged there and tugged at it slightly. Blood leaked out of it, a little more each time as he moved it, but they fragment wouldn't budge.

One last knife, the butcher's one, tucked away in the other boot was pulled out as Seymour looked sadly at Jobo. "I'm sorry sir. At least you are lucky in one regard." The knife hung by one side as Seymour said the next words. "You didn't have to face someone like Raul, or Mengele."

 

[Terrance888]

Round 1
James Black Vs. Zachariah Anderson.
​

"What in the name of the Lord in heaven..."

I quickly rolled out of the cave and felt for my knife. Good, I've survived I thought as I tried to remember what just happened. Dang my head is throbbing! I sat back down as I remember going to the cafeteria. Bertie was showing me his Applejack Gin.

I remember the blinding flash of light. Yes, they sent us here to this cave. Bertie’s still turned off. I pull his tail and wait a bit.

I carried him as I walked out the cave. I quickly scanned the area, and made sure I wasn’t affected by something stupid like vertigo or something. Then I turned the corner and

Oh… Oh my.

I just wandered into a deeper circle of hell. I mean, there is actual LAVA right there!

A screen (Holoscreen, as Bertie helpfully supplied) appeared. “Welcome to the first round! Defeat your opponent and advance through the tournament. Good luck with James Black! Holoscreen brought to you by Aperture Science, doing what we must because we can since 1956!”.

So… only one man will advance this circle of hell then. Wonder who James Black is. I ask Bertie, and he said, “He’s the pirate, armed with a plasma rifle and a stun blade, and he won’t hesitate to kill.”

Er… then only one man will survive if he wins.

Bloody Hell.

Cautiously, I walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down. Below our chamber the cliff widens out again before reaching us. Looking at the dim hole above us, it seems that there are also several more such chambers before the sky pierced the uppermost one. The sun had shone directly down the hole when I woke up, but it slowly left, leaving my chamber dark, except for the dull red glow of the magma.

I backed up to the wall, letting my scruffy overcoat camouflage me into the dank walls of the volcano. Bertie was inside of my coat, and both of us scanned the walls of the volcano, looking for the silver-haired Pirate. The chamber was nothing special, although we both saw spiral grooves around it’s edges. “I guess he’s not here” I whispered to Bertie.

Just then, a Plasma bolt streaked down from the upper chamber, and splashed into the cave I came from.

More poured out from the chamber above, and as I dodged I could see a shock of silver hair and a face so clean and white that he probably never stayed out in actual sunlight for any time. I jumped behind a large rock and waited for the shooting to subside.

“The grooves are stairs” whispered Bertie. I nodded. “Distract him” I whispered. I gripped my knife, freshly polished and cleaned. The gunfire is slowing down.

“Now!” I cried. Bertie dashed for the cave from whence we came while the more Plasma hosed down like a stream of light. I quickly dashed to the start of the stair and started to climb. A rock wall blocked our views of each other, but through a gap I saw that Bertie had survived.

I reached the top of the stairs, and was just about to climb out when a knife appeared. The stun blade whirred as a pearl-white hand grabbed me by the overcoat and dragged me out. There was James Black, the shining white pirate.

“I like your games” he whispered, “you surprised me a little… but no matter. You are going to play my game now!”

“And what is that, may I ask” I retorted, I slowly bent my knees and prepared my knife, trying to ignore the stunblade just above my head… if I can hit it out of the way…

“… the plank, perfect” I hear him finish. What plank? I have no clue.

He picked me up by knife point and led me to a plank hanging over the edge of the cliff. Oh, that plant. He gave a smile, twisting his fair face into a grimace. “Just walk it, Zach, and it’ll be all over soon.” Below, the blood of hell roiled and bubbled. It is slowly rising.

He walked me to the edge of the plank, still holding me by knife point. Then we stood at the edge. Quietly, I hear his leather jacket whose as he brought the knife back, to plunge into me and toss me into the lava.

I quickly dodged sideways off the plank, jumping onto the cliff nearly four meters to the side and slightly below me. Barely catching the rock, I caught my breath and looked back.

James had shown extraordinary balance, and didn’t fall off as I had hoped. He walked over to his plasma rifle. “If you won’t play my game, then I’ll have to kill you the normal way, then” he said, Then, he stopped.

Bertie, bless him, was holding the rifle. “You’re not a contestant are you?” spoke the Pirate. He advanced on the metallic rabbit, “You can’t defeat me, Zach has to.” He suddenly charged at the bunny and punted it into the wall. It gave a pitiful whirr and turned off.

“Damned renegade robots” he muttered as he picked up his rifle. What he didn’t notice is that I had climbed up the cliff and was advancing towards him. The lava below me had engulfed half of the lower level. “I can use my plasma rifle as I wish… to kill sneaks!” He suddenly turned towards me and pressed his trigger… nothing happened. Bertie must have turned it off! I jumped at him and he barely blocked my blade of steel with his stun blade.

And so we fought, knife to knife. The Worchester Washingroom and the Edinburg Bar attack didn’t work against his experience, but I slowly pushed him back, using my overcoat to catch his blade as often as with my own blade.

Then, we both tried to nutcracker each other at the same time, and pushed each other onto our backs. He fell with a thud against the wall, ripping his leather shirt. “Damn!” he cussed. I scrapped against the floor , and cut the back of my head.

Warily, I stood back up. The pirate was still blaspheming into the air, except with more exotic flavors of which I cannot understand, “Damn the Inquisition and the Imperium! Damn the Quin!”. He looked at me with his light grey eyes, no longer joking or kidding, “You will die for ripping my vintage leather suit! And I will dip you inch by inch into the lava!” He charged at me, his stun blade leading the attack.

I blocked the clumsy block and kicked him in the chest. He stumbed backwards again, but this time the fight seemed to be knocked out of him.

He fell.

I picked up his stun knife and advanced on his figure. He squired and kicked at me, but I blocked it with my own boot, and then smashed the pommel of my knife on his knee, it shattered.

James shouted in pain, but before he can dirty the air anymore I stabbed the stun blade into his destroyed knee. He twitched, then froze up.

“The Lava is rising at 8 meters per hour, at this rate you will be burned in 97.5 mintues.” I told him, “If you can get out, or get help in that time, more power to you.”

Ripping out the stunblade, I stabbed my knife through his other knee into the ground. Then, I picked up Bertie and started to slowly climb up the grooved staircases, with his limp body in one hand and the pirate weapon in the other.

The Lava rose higher. I can see a small swarm of robots descend the chambers, but I didn’t see them leave.

I reached the top, Judge Alena was in a Gyrocopter. She frowned and said, “He isn’t dead.”

I answered, “He is as good as dead.”

She accepted my answer and said, “Jump on.”

This I did. As the Gyrocopter flew back towards the Carnivale Hotel, I managed to reboot Bertie. The first thing he said was, “It’s a Helicopter, not a Gyrocopter”

The second thing he said was, “Now I’m actually flying.”

He’s as good as dead, should I have finished him off?

I though of the hatred in his eyes, for ripping his jacket.

Nah. This world is Hell anyway, how can it get worse?

 

[SKILORD]

Well well electric, a fight it is.

 

[KaiserElectric]

Indeed it is sir.

Out of curiosity, will there be down time between rounds for character development?

 

[thomas.berubeg]

OOC: Yes. It will take a few days between the deadline and the judges deciding.

 

[Seon]

I will give people some time after the Decision is made for that regard, electric. I need time to tailor the arenas for the next set after all.

It will be epic. Post Thanksgiving undead demonic attack turkeys are already being prepped in the freezer and are being fed a steady supply of chicken-fed ducks.

 

[Lord_Iggy]

My story is currently partway done.

 

[Blaze Injun]

Kill Girl Miyabi Vs Keder .
Round 1​

"You azzhoes!" Screamed Kill Girl Miyabi to the ceiling of the large cave. "I get this new leather logo jacket and you stick me in caves!" From her hip pouch she retrieved a plasma flare from her "Empress Mako's Cave Kit" Guaranteed to last a hour before the little plasma sun blinked form existence.

See looked around. The standard idea of a cave. Ledges along the walls at various heights. A large clear, shallow and very still pool to her left and a giant rock slab to its right. Perfect for close in combat. Deep shadows guarded a entrance on a ledge 10 feet of the floor of the cave across from her position. "Classic." She held up the small goldfish bowl that now not only held Akina, but her two new sister fish. A pouty look on her face. "You know Akina and sisters that this setting is challenging." Miyabi put the bowl down.

"No plasma lance." She laid out the poncho she keep rolled across her shoulder blades. She set the goldfish bowl on the poncho with her plasma lance. "No new leather jacket." She bent at the hips pulling her schoolgirl skirt up to show her pink panties toward the opposite entrance. Kill Girl Club printed in bright orange across her buttocks. She looked over at the goldfish bowl as her brains electrical system was firing on its own. Memories had been targeted. Miyabi quickly licked her lip. Her wet tongue contacting a sensor on the half skull mask to commanding a instant shot of concentrated Succubi pheromones. This one would allow her to speed up her brain activity to block intrusion or even control what information is found. "Looks like Mr. Ito was right about time with the Mind Control Device." She giggled at the silent fishes in the bowl.

"You must be the one I need to kill." A hooded figure appeared from the shadows across the cave. "Your panties and your mind say so."

You shouldn't spy on little girls minds." She spin to stand shyly. Her right hand held sheepishly to her black lined lips just below the "teeth" of her fanciful half skull mask. Her left hand grabbing the hilt of her katana. "Or underwear without proper introduction."

"The name is Keder." The man jumped down to the rock slab and raised his right hand toward the plasma flare. Slowly rocks from the cave floor started to surround the flare. Then quickly enclosed the light source. The cave was in darkness. Miyabi's mask's eyepieces automatically shifted into night vision. The trouble was this Keder didn't show up in night vision. With a lick of her wet tongue she ran through the HUD of her mask. He didn't show up on any band. From sonic to electromagnetic to ultraviolet. Nothing. Keder's voice echoed into the dark. "I know were you are."

She felt a increased push in her brain. Like someone pushing on a door to her memories. He could locate her by her brain activity. "Mind location. So rude" Suddenly the Keder effect was weakened. Miyabi's pink tongue darted out to release a pheromone increasing her strength and speed in cooperation with biochemical batteries located along her arms, legs and spine.

Miyabi spinning low grabbed her leather coat and tossed it high in the air at were the hooded man had been standing. She then launched herself off her ledge toward the shallow pool. The force wave hit her in the legs causing her to try and adjust for her landing. As she went tumbling her speed allowed her to pull her high quality, fine linked, industrial strength chain from her hip pouch. As she skipped and splashed across the pool she trailed the chain looping it three times as she came to a landing.

"You broke my leg you bastard and got my panties wet!" Kill Girl Miyabi screamed kneeling down in the pool. Her skirt looking like plaid petals of a water flower in the dark. Once again she felt the push. This time more powerful. She smiled wickedly. She tongued her skull mask increasing her bioelectrical activity in her brain. "I wonder how he sees it." She said to herself. Through her eyepieces she could see the pool calm. Just ripples from the water dripping from her wet hair. Ripples moving away from her. She pulled her katana from it place at her back making sure not to electrify its edge. She slowly wrapping the end of the chain to it to hits working end & jammed the point into the pools floor. Water covered the chain. In her mind she channeled the cellular messengers.

Keder had indeed been hit by the jacket causing him to miss his target. Still he had broke her leg. Her mind said as much. And more. It showed him her fight in a war of worlds. Running to stay alive. Her training. But it showed him fear. Fear at every turn. Fear to the point her mind read only. Fear.

"You are pretty weak for someone called Kill Girl." He sounded uninterested and a little annoyed. Keder moved into the pool walking slowly toward the frightened schoolgirl. He came closer rolling up his robe like sleeves. "This won't take but a second." Her hands dropped into the water beside her trembling body.

As Keder was inches away from bodily contact with Kill Girl Miyabi he froze. He was not reading but watching a scene in his mind. Miyabi had planned for this moment. He saw it all. The chain being looped as a trap. He slightly moved. Yes. He was caught by at least one loop. He saw her use of bioelectric to counter and then defeat his mind reading as she called it. Miyabi was working on a whole different level. A scientific level beyond his ability. "You had this all planned from the start." He took a step back. He saw how she had located him by the wavelengths of the ripples in the pool coming toward her. Amazing. She wasn't even hurt.

Miyabi's left hand shot up grabbing the katana hilt. She pulled it free of the pools bottom and looped the chain around his forearms. Miyabi pulled down hard on the chain which brought the man into a forward free fall. Her right hand, now armed with a bioelectrical charged cesti exploded from the water toward his face. Small lightening like arcs crossing its dark surface and out to the water drops flying around it as it came.

Keder's mind focused and from his hand he fired. The push was focused down. Blowing water & Keder back away from Miyabi's fist. Pain filled his mind as his shoulders were dislocated by the chain. He fell back to float in the shallow water. He fought to gain control. He had to locate that young killer. Seconds past as his mind cleared. Keder laid his head back into the water. He opened his eyes to see Miyabi standing over his floating face. "I must now say your Kill Girl title suits you."

Miyabi charged her katana with her biochemical batteries causing the blades edge to have the same arcing effect as her cesti. It would work as a source of light. "You reading my panties again." She said leaning over to look under her wet schoolgirl skirt. She leaned back pulling his dislocated arms toward her and gracefully cut his hands from them.

Miyabi felt the massive increase of her brain activity that signaled the mans last attack. He was trying to fry her mind. She leaned back over to look at the mans head that was floating between her knees. "Your going to like this." Her wet pink tongue licked her lips. "That lick right there is a painkiller pheromone. It inhibits the information flow of the brain." Miyabi giggled. "Your attack is being randomly rotated to dead brain cells."

"But the kicker is you can't stand up right." Kill Girl Miyabi said as her panties and Keder's face sunk beneath the calm pool waters. The tickle of his air bubbles ended quickly. She leaned forward to rest her elbow on his chest and her face in her hand just above the bloody water. "Professor Peggy is going to love this one."


bR1

 

[KaiserElectric]

I will give people some time after the Decision is made for that regard, electric. I need time to tailor the arenas for the next set after all.

It will be epic. Post Thanksgiving undead demonic attack turkeys are already being prepped in the freezer and are being fed a steady supply of chicken-fed ducks.

megusta.jpeg

 

[SouthernKing]

I'll get my entry in on Wednesday probably. Can't before then.

 

[Seon]

megusta.jpeg

You know you are scared.

 

[Terrance888]

Alright southern king, can't wait to see your entry.